


The Dissonant Verses

by danceswithronin



Category: Dragon Age: All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Dammit Solas, Dissension in The Ranks, F/M, Fenris Comes To Skyhold, Rite of Tranquility, Seekers of Truth, Solas/Fenris Tension, Templars
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-17
Updated: 2015-08-24
Packaged: 2018-04-15 06:43:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4596792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danceswithronin/pseuds/danceswithronin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of the atrocities at Adamant Fortress, Inquisitor Tobias Trevelyan is forced to pass judgment on one of the Inquisition's most powerful enemies, a man as unrepentant as he is dangerous. Some approve of the sentence - others are shocked at its cruelty, especially coming from a man known for his compassion and piety, and he himself a mage. But the decision to invoke a terrible ritual deemed worse than death has unintended consequences for the mages and templars of Skyhold, and tension over the punishment brings the quiet sanctuary to the brink of open revolt. </p><p>When the templars refuse to perform, Tobias is forced to search outside of the Inquisition for someone willing to carry out the dire sentence; Varric happens to know just the guy...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Redditor /u/Secret-Pumpkins](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Redditor+%2Fu%2FSecret-Pumpkins).



_Blessed are they who stand before_  
_The corrupt and the wicked and do not falter._ – Canticle of Benedictions

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Inquisitor listened to Erimond’s arrogant ravings with a blank expression. Normally emotions moved across the man’s gentle face as plainly as noon shadows, but now his visage was as inscrutable as any Orlesian mask.

There were several beats of silence as the magister’s indignant words echoed out into the vast hall, all in attendance shocked to stillness by his boldness, even in the face of certain death. When the man’s words had faded entirely, and the entire court waited with bated breath, the Inquisitor finally spoke, his voice rolling smooth and apocalyptic over the crowd.

“Your venomous acts have led to the death of hundreds of innocents, many of them the best Thedas has to offer, at a time when they are most desperately needed. Grey Wardens and Inquisition soldiers alike. Every funeral pyre in Skyhold tonight is the direct result of your actions, and still you stand here and mock us to our faces. I cannot risk your escape if imprisoned, nor will I afford you the sword of mercy offered to Our Lady, for you deserve none and I would give you nothing you ask for. No matter how much satisfaction it would bring me to wield the headman’s sword myself.” The Inquisitor’s voice broke slightly at this point. “Good men died because of your treachery. Men with family, and friends. Men of faith. They will not have died in vain. In the name of the Maker, I will not abide it.”

His blue-green eyes, normally the cheerful color of dancing seas, were as cold as the glaciers of the Frostbacks as he continued, and never did they drop from the gaze of the conquered Vint. “Therefore, I will grant you the only fate I can think of worse than death, one that will make you less of a threat to the people of Thedas than a courtyard dog. A mage’s punishment, fit to suit the heinous nature of your crimes. Magister Livius Erimond, for the charges of apostasy, blood magic, murder, heresy, and conspiracy to overthrow the Ferelden Grey Wardens, I name you malificarum and sentence you to Tranquility.”

A firestorm of gasps and shocked whispered erupted from the crowd, and even templars exchanged looks with raised brows. Tobias could not help the savage, primal glee that rose up in his heart as he saw Erimond’s carefully-cultivated self-assurance crumble at once to reveal mortal terror beneath. _This is how they felt,_ a soft, cold voice whispered in his mind, _when they sentenced Her to the pyre._

_“You can’t, you can’t do this!”_ When the two Inquisition soldiers stepped off the dais to either side of the Inquisitor to take Erimond under the elbows, all of the strength seemed to run out of him at once and his legs gave out. He only stayed upright because the solders held him up, beginning to drag him away from the throne.

Suddenly Erimond ripped himself free of the soldiers’ hands, lunging out at the dais. The guards unsheathed their swords with a double rasp of singing steel, and the Inquisitor stood swiftly, holding out his marked hand before him as a ward. The light of the Breach glittered from his palm, illuminating the court with queer peridot shadows from the Fade, and the courtiers of Skyhold shrank back against the stone of the court’s walls in superstitious terror.

But Erimond only threw himself at the Inquisitor’s feet as he crawled back to the dais on his hands and knees, head lowered, sobbing openly now. The Inquisitor fought to keep an expression of revulsion off his face and briefly lost as he pulled the toe of his boot back from the magister’s desperate, clutching grasp. As the soldiers stepped forward, the Tobias raised his eyes to them in a flicker and shook his head ever so slightly. They stopped at a safe distance away, swords raised to put the magister down if he showed any further sign of resistance.

“Mercy, my Lord Inquisitor, I beg you. In the name of sweet blessed Andraste, I beg you,” the man whispered, just loud enough for the silence-struck courtiers closest to the throne to hear. No trace of the arrogant man who had first stood before Tobias now remained. Now in the Vint’s face, the Inquisitor saw the fear he had seen in the face of every mage at Ostwick when they passed the Harrowing chamber by, every time they caught a Templar watching them with stoic, considering silence. The Inquisitor’s expression didn’t change, but he felt a part of his heart ripped away, blind compassion snuffing out as quietly as a candle blown dark by a castle draft.

He let it go.

“And where were you when my men were being torn apart by demons? Where was _their_ mercy?” the Inquisitor asked, softly. “Because of you, the Champion of Kirkwall is dead. The Grey Wardens torn down to their foundations, because of you. The halls of Halamshiral are blood-splattered, as are the halls of the palace in Denerim. _Your_ doing. No, Lord Erimond. You will find no mercy here. Save your breath for the Chant of Transfigurations. You’ll be assigned to recite it at the gates of Skyhold, so that all may know how the Inquisition deals with mages who turn the Maker’s greatest gift against His children. Take him away.”

_“No!”_

The Inquisitor’s gaze came up at the sharp cry that rang from the court, and as he watched, Solas stepped forward. The elven apostate’s face was set into a mask of unbridled fury, and he stalked across the stones towards Tobias.

“Inquisitor, you must stop this madness now.” The voice of the apostate elf seemed very loud, even over the incredulous whispers of the court. “Or will the Inquisition fall to the same corruption and power-hungry insanity that felled the Templar Order and the Seekers to begin with?”

Tobias turned his gaze from Erimond to Solas, and beneath the anger on the elf’s face, the Inquisitor could see his friend pleading with him. Tobias silently pleaded with him right back. _Please, for all the love you bear me, do not do this,_ the Inquisitor thought. _Not in front of all of them, where I will have no choice but to rebuke you. Dress me down in your library if you choose, strike me then if you must, but do not do this. Not here._

“Enough, Solas,” the Inquisitor replied, his voice brooking no further argument. His tone held warning on the edge of danger, but his stomach was soured with bitter bile, and his heart was sick. His head pounded with unshed tears. “My sentence has been passed.”

“And it’s the _wrong one.”_ Solas clacked the end of his staff against the stone of the hall in a gesture of barely-restrained anger, the sound like a crack of thunder. The Fade flickered around him briefly, like a mirage of nightmares. Several of the courtiers shrank back again, and not a few shrieks of startled fright rose up.

He came even closer to the throne, until one of the guards who had been standing over Erimond held a sword across his path, blocking him from moving further with narrowed eyes and a silent threat. Solas ignored the guard – he only had eyes for Tobias.

“I will _not_ stand aside and see the Inquisition perpetrate the same atrocities that led to the mage rebellion in the first place.”

“Then there’s the door,” the Inquisitor spat back with a fury that surprised even him, pointing to the great oaken doors of Skyhold’s main hall. A fresh wave of uneasy murmurs broke across the crowd of courtiers, and Solas looked stricken, as if Tobias had reached out and physically struck him.

The Inquisitor continued, his tone somewhat softer but his face like stone, giving nothing. “Nobody holds you here, Solas. You are not a prisoner of this Inquisition, nor have you ever been.” He stared the elf down, the two mages locked in a battle of wills. “If you find yourself at odds with its purpose, or find yourself unable to stomach what must be done to protect our people, return to your dusty ruins, dream your dead dreams. Some of us do not have the luxury. We must contend with reality, even if you will not.”

The elf’s face grew pale with rage, the blood draining from his face. Just as it seemed he would lash out again, his shoulders dropped and his gaze lowered. His mouth was set in a small, cruel smile.

“As you wish. _Your Worship.”_ Solas snarled this last, making the reverent form of address an obscenity. He turned and strode from the hall with his head and shoulders high, his barefooted steps soundless as he passed through the open doors and into the sunlight of the courtyard without a backward glance.

The Inquisitor watched him go, then turned his eyes back to Erimond. The man stared up at him with a flushed, tearstained countenance, his eyes still begging.

Tobias raised his gaze to the crowd again, seeking any kind of validation. A large number of the soldiers and refugee Wardens in court – many of them survivors of Adamant – stared back with approval, nodding grimly when the Inquisitor’s eye met theirs. But others looked at him with uneasy speculation. Even fear. And the way the mages looked at him…

He did not look to his inner circle. He could not bear to search their faces and find reproach there. He turned back to the guards who stood near Erimond.

“Take this apostate from my sight. Let all the Venatori and all who would stand with them know the price for their blasphemy.” The words hit the near-silence of the court like the lid of a coffin slamming shut. They tasted like ashes in his mouth.

The Inquisitor stepped down from the dais and moved towards the door that would lead him out of the main hall. He walked slowly, with grace and deliberate purpose, to the door, and closed it firmly behind him. Even before the door was closed, he heard the volume of the court’s whispers rise to a frenzied murmur.

The illusion of control managed, Tobias broke pace into a tear-blind dash, heading for his quarters by memory, his boots slapping on the stones, his coat flying out behind him. He ran until a hot stitch burned in his side and his heart was pounding in his own ears loudly enough to drown out the elf’s accusations.

The High Inquisitor of Thedas locked the door behind him. Safe for the moment from prying eyes, he collapsed to his knees on the rug beside his bed and buried his face in the coverlet, his hands grasping spastically at the soft fabric like the hands of a drowning man, seeking any purchase that will save him. His body quivered with silent sobs.

And even after nightfall, when the rest of the keep glimmered with candlelight, the highest tower of Skyhold remained dark.


	2. Chapter 2

_Knock-knock._

There were several beats of silence, and for a moment lying beneath the furs of his bed in the warm igloo of his own body heat, Tobias thought that the would-be intruder had given up and turned away.

_Knock-knock-knock._

Tobias summoned every ounce of intimidation he possessed and growled out: "Go. Away."

Instead, he heard the tumbler in the door turn over as whoever had been knocking let themselves in. Footsteps padded across the floor towards the beside. Tobias heard someone clear their throat.

"Maker's breath," he swore, flipping up one corner of the blanket to glare at the trespasser. He came directly face-to-face with Varric Tethras, who was raising one bemused eyebrow at him.

"Tell me, what is the point of being an all-powerful religious figurehead if you can't even order anyone out of your own bedroom?"

"You look like shit."

The Inquisitor sighed and sat up, scooting up the bed until he could lean comfortably against the headboard and rest his forearms on his raised knees. It made the twenty-five year-old mage look ten years younger, and for a second Varric could see the pensive, shy boy who must have ghosted through the halls at the Circle in Ostwick. It made him feel sad.

Tobias passed a weary hand over two days' worth of stubble, and what passed for the Inquisitor's beard reminded Varric that he was speaking to a man - quite possibly the most powerful man in southern Thedas - and no teenager.

"Would you believe me if I told you I felt like shit too?"

"Wouldn't take that much convincing." Varric walked to the end of the bed and hoisted himself up onto the edge of it to sit with the practiced ease of the very short living in the world of the very tall. His feet didn't touch the floor. "How are you really doing, Sparkles?"

"Did I do the right thing?"

Varric held up his hands in a warding gesture. "Whoa now, you are looking at the wrong person to be making that determination. Dwarves aren't even _connected_ to the Fade, remember?"

"No. But you know what the Rite is." Tobias stared into the middle distance, as if seeing another place in his thoughts.

"Yeah. Yeah, I do," Varric replied, more softly.

"So what would you have done?"

Varric was quiet for a moment. "...Hawke was my friend. I protected him, for a long time. More times than he ever knew about. But I couldn't protect him from this."

"It wasn't your fault, Varric."

"I know that," Varric said, sounding slightly impatient now. "But I also know who is responsible, and he's sitting in a cell under our feet as we speak. Now the big question is, what do you intend to do about it?" He reached over and put his hand on the Inquisitor's shoulder. "Honestly? Doesn't matter much what I would have done, and doesn't matter much what you would have done differently, either. Like you said, the sentence is passed, for better or worse. You can't afford to go back on your word. Not after what Solas did."

The memory of the elf taking the floor of the court brought a warm flush of anger to the Inquisitor's cheeks.

"Where is he?"

"Cullen told me he saw him leaving with a pack after the sentencing."

"He didn't tell anyone where he was going?"

Varric laughed, but there wasn't much humor in it. "You say that like he ever does."

"I wonder if he'll come back," Tobias said, more to himself than to Varric.

The dwarf shrugged. "With Chuckles, who can tell? The guy is as slippery as a snake in a grease trap."

Sighing, Tobias finally swung his legs out of the bed and walked over to the washing basin by the brazier, where he peeled off his sleep-shirt and splashed some freezing snowmelt on his face and chest. "Kind of surprised you're the first person to come try and drag me from my chambers," he said as he grabbed a towel and dried himself.

"Yeah, well, Cassandra told everyone you'd come down when you were damned good and ready."

"No she did not."

"Well, she didn't say it _just_ like that, but that was the gist."

 _And why didn't she come to check on me herself?_ Tobias thought, but didn't bother to ask. Even though she had softened towards him considerably since he started formally courting her, any exaggerated display of emotion - good or ill - made the stoic Seeker uncomfortable. He knew without her having to tell him that she didn't know how to comfort him. Not in this. 

"So exactly how upset is everyone with me?"

The beat of silence before Varric responded told Tobias everything he needed to know.

"It's not that they're... upset, Sparkles. I don't think that's the right word, at least not for most of them. I think they're just surprised. It's hard to see a man rush into a burning building to save a child, and see that same man pass down one of the worst punishments ever imagined." He looked into the Inquisitor's face. "I think they're afraid."

"Afraid of me." Tobias didn't make it a question. Vivienne's words rose to the surface of his mind, unbidden: _Make them fear us._

Varric shrugged unhappily.

"Do you think Solas was right?" He shucked out of the soft pants he had been sleeping in and pulled on his breeches, then grabbed a fresh shirt from his wardrobe and pulled it over his head.

"The man was begging you to kill him, Sparkles. He was laughing at the idea of it. I don't know about you, but I'm not in the habit of giving homicidal madmen what they want. So what other choice did you have? He was too dangerous to let live, and death... death is too good for him. He's asked for you, you know."

"Erimond?" Tobias couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice.

Varric stared into the brazier thoughtfully, and nodded. "I don't know what he wants. Probably a last shot at talking himself out of the shit he stepped in. That'd be my best guess." Varric looked up at Tobias - for the first time since he came in, his face turned into something hard and angry. "He killed my best friend, Inquisitor. The best one I've ever had, and one of the best men I've ever known. Maybe he didn't do it by hand, but he managed it just the same. So you ask me, kid? You did good. The Rite of Tranquility might be terrible, but you know what they say about desperate times and desperate measures."

On that note, the dwarf dropped off the edge of the bed and walked towards the bedroom door, pulling it open. He turned to look back at Tobias. "Can I tell Josie you'll meet with the war council today, before she wears a track in the carpet with her pacing?"

"Of course. I'm sorry to have worried them." Tobias felt his stomach drop at the prospect of seeing his advisors. He had seen no one in two days, refusing to venture from his room even for meals. What meager fare he'd been able to stomach he had grabbed from the castle's kitchens in the dead of night, like some sort of sneakthief, though he hadn't had much of an appetite. What must they all think of his cowardice, hiding away in his bedroom like a sulking child?

Varric seemed to read his mind, giving him a gentle smile. "Don't worry so much, Inquisitor. Your face is going to get stuck like that if you keep it up. Everybody knows what kind of pressure you've been under lately. You don't have anything to apologize for."

On those words, the dwarf tipped the Inquisitor a little half-salute and let himself out, shutting the door softly behind him.

Tobias finished the small cozy rituals of making himself ready for the day, shaving his face in the basin and shining his boots. It was comforting to do these little familiar things, but he was also too aware that the entire procedure was one exhaustive attempt at delaying the inevitable. He would eventually have to face them.

When he was done, he stood in front of a fancy Orlesian mirror framed with dancing gilded lions, and looked at himself.

He didn't recognize who he saw in the mirror anymore.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

It was still early and quiet when Tobias slipped out of his quarters and crept towards the main hall, the first light of dawn not quite breaking over the Frostbacks. The only sounds to be heard were the quiet words passed between servants and the soft _shish-shish-shish_ sound of brooms whisking across stone.

"Your Worship," one of these sweepers said reverently as Tobias came by, pausing in her work to let him pass. Her words brought back Solas' words to the Inquisitor and he winced at the remembered venom in them.

The main hall was almost deserted, but a few early risers milled at the long tables, dining on trenchers filled with fried eggs and cheese. The smell made the Inquisitor's stomach clench and involuntary water flood his mouth, but when one of the men sitting at the table looked up at him and met his gaze unsmiling, Tobias felt his appetite vanish.

He wanted to go brood in the war room, but it could not have even be six yet, and the others wouldn't convene until seven at the earliest. He tried to think of who might else be up already at this ungodly hour. He couldn't bear to mill around in the courtyard and gardens like he usually did in the mornings - what would people think of him if they saw him wandering alone in the half-light, looking as lost as he felt?

Suddenly he heard a ripple of musical notes drift down from the promenade, wistful and sweet, and a small smile rose to his lips. Vivienne. Of course. She was always up before dawn - when he first met her, Tobias had wondered at times if she ever slept at all.

He headed upstairs, edging his way past a brace of coal boys until he reached Vivienne's alcove, which was bristling with freshly-lit braziers and candlelight. The music came from her. Without looking up at him she played, her dark graceful fingers dancing over the instrument's strings.

Tobias leaned against the wall silently, crossing his arms over his chest, and listened. The song changed as it went along - first it reminded him of a hart being chased by hounds, and then raindrops rippling a forest pond, and then a shifting flock of birds.

He was entranced by the music, and he had no idea how long he stood there listening before the chords finally tinkled off into echoes, and the enchanter raised her sloe eyes to him. She smiled.

"Darling, I didn't even see you standing there." She sat the lute gently against the wall and gestured at the ornate high-backed chair across from the one she was sitting in. Tobias sank down into it. "We were starting to wonder if you'd expired." Her words were light, almost flippant, but her calculating expression as she watched his face told a different story.

"Oh, I couldn't do that. Where would the Inquisition be without the fabled Herald of Andraste?" Tobias was startled by the bitterness in his own voice, and moved his gaze from Vivienne's to gaze out onto the balcony, where the first light of dawn was beginning to light the stone. "I'm sorry. That was unworthy of me. I'm just... I'm tired."

"Did you get the platter of lemon tarts I left at the door?"

A ghost of a smile touched his lips and was gone almost before it appeared. "You made those for me?"

She gave him a slanted grin in return. "Don't be ridiculous darling. Me, bake? No, I had the kitchens send it up. I know those are your favorite."

 _Why are we talking about tarts?_ Tobias suddenly felt the overwhelming urge to shout. _For Andraste's sweet sake, I just sentenced a man to death. No, worse than that... I've_ damned _him. And all you have to say is did you enjoy the pastries?_

He bit the words back and sat in silence. Silence seemed best.

"Do you know that if I had been appointed First Enchantress of Montsimmard, I would have been responsible for deciding which apprentices out of that Circle were made Tranquil and which took the Harrowing from that point on?" Vivienne asked, almost conversationally. "I would - or will - be responsible for every phylactery of blood. Every leash, every death in the Harrowing, every Tranquil. Do not think you are the only one with difficult choices to make, my dear."

"Tranquilizing apprentices who haven't proven themselves dangerous is wrong," Tobias said, but the words had no strength behind them.

"Is it?" Vivienne raised her eyebrows at him in that incredulous look that always made him feel like a child, as if he had seen nothing of import in the world. "Go ask Cullen what it is like when one apprentice decides they will not wear a leash. Ask him what it sounds like when children scream as the Circle falls, or how it feels to be tortured for hours on end by apostates and demons mad with power." The enchantress's voice was as cold as ice now. "Do not deign to lecture me about right and wrong, Inquisitor. Leaders - true leaders - do not have the luxury of dalliance on the basis of morals. Sometimes it is required of a leader to commit a small evil so that a larger evil cannot prevail."

"And if you had to make the decision to Tranquilize a child?" Tobias asked. "An innocent child, who has done nothing wrong?"

"If that child has shown weakness to possession? In a heartbeat. Without question. To protect all the rest." 

The Inquisitor had no answer for that. 

"How are the mages reacting?" Tobias said, keeping his voice low so it would not carry in the sparsely-populated hall.

"We've had some small number of apostates quit the field and slip off quietly into the night," she said smoothly, as if deserters were no consequence. "Many already had, you know, after Therinfal. A castle full of restless templars does not instill a sense of security in apostates who were recently fleeing for their lives from them. But I don't think we have much to miss from those who are afraid of being made Tranquil. If anything, I think we can safely say we've driven all Venatori spies and most potential abominations from our ranks. Many who will risk death will not risk Tranquility, to our credit. That in and of itself is a victory against those who would see us destroyed from within."

The Inquisitor stood abruptly and moved onto the balcony, feeling the chilly dawn breeze blow his bangs back from his forehead, stinging his eyes. Vivienne followed him in silence.

After they watched the courtyard a few moments, he said softly: "I don't want people to fear me."

"Some people will never love you, yet you will still require their respect," she replied, her voice dead calm and resolute. "They will hate you for being a mage, or for not being enough of a mage, for being too rich or not rich enough, or for no discernible reason at all. So if they will not love you, they must fear you. Or you will come to fear them, my dear, and end up scurrying around your own castle like a Chantry mouse." The contempt in her voice at this last was undisguised, and Tobias felt hot blood creep up his neck.

"I want to go home," he said in a whisper. In the early morning stillness could almost smell the beeswax candles and hear the riffling pages of the library at Ostwick. He had no lovers there, and not many friends, but he hadn't had mortal enemies either. It was a dull life by almost anyone's estimation, but in this moment he would have cut off his marked hand and delivered it to Corypheus himself to have it back.

The Circle of Ostwick would never be the same. For the mages and templars alike, nothing would ever be the same. The thought made him feel sick and exhausted, all at once.

Before he could react, he felt the enchantress's warm silk-swaddled arms circling him as she sidled up beside him. He lifted his arm to rest around her shoulders, and she rested her head on his chest.

"I know it's hard. But you must be harder. For all our sakes."

They stayed that way until the first birds began to sing and Tobias spied Cullen stalking across the battlements, stifling a yawn against the back of his hand as the wind buffeted the fur on his epaulettes.

"There's my cue." He pulled back from Vivienne gently and she let him disengage, holding out one hand to him expectantly. He took it and brushed his lips over her knuckles, bowing low. When he leaned back up, she was smiling at him, a bright one this time, meant to encourage the embattled.

"Go do what you must, darling."

He nodded and took his leave as he headed back towards the war room, thinking with bitter humor how cute it was that she assumed he even knew what he was doing to begin with.


	3. Chapter 3

The war room was still vacant when Tobias entered, though some brave early morning soul had been through already and lit the braziers and the candelabras, setting the room ablaze with dancing light. It reminded Tobias of going to early Benedictions at the Circle. He was surprised that Cassandra wasn’t already there, peering over the twin maps of Ferelden and Orlais as if all of the secrets of life and death lay somewhere in the depths of that tattered, ink-stained vellum.

The Inquisitor walked over to his seat at the head of the table and sank into it, so filled with bone-deep weariness and anxiety he felt as if he could doze back off right there. He had not slept much over the past two days he had been alone in his quarters, mulling over the gravity of his situation as he stared up into his darkened ceiling, and what sleep he had managed was broken and troubled. More than once he had woken with a scream of protest on his lips, hearing a demon’s subaudible whisper in his mind as it drifted further into consciousness and further out of the Fade. He heard Envy as he laid on the bare mattress with all of his covers kicked onto the floor, his body laced with cold sweat.

_The Inquisition will bring misery and ruin and fear._

When the door opened and Cullen walked in, Tobias was a little shocked to see that the Inquisition commander looked just as worse for wear as he did. There were dark circles under Cullen’s eyes that looked almost as deep as bruises, and his face was pale and shone with sweat, as if the former templar was in the grips of some terrible lingering illness. Tobias noticed that the older man had one hand on the pommel of his sword and held the other over it in a death grip, and he suddenly realized it was to keep the man’s hands from shaking.

Cullen’s eyebrows raised slightly in surprise when he saw Tobias waiting for him. “Inquisitor, you’ve come. Are you all right?”

“Should I be asking you the same question?” Tobias flicked his eyes briefly at the man’s hands, then raised them back to Cullen’s. He remembered Cullen’s answer from two weeks before, when he admitted that he was withdrawing from lyrium and Tobias asked him if it caused him pain: _I can endure it._ Tobias had no doubt that the man could endure that and much worse, but…

“I’m fine,” Cullen replied brusquely, impatient with having his concern deflected back on him. “Are you?”

Since no one else was present yet, Tobias allowed himself the small luxury of resting his elbows on the war table, resting his face in his hands before rubbing it briskly in his palms, running his palms up through his hair and holding his head as if he had a headache. _I must look like one of those statues in Val Royeaux too embarrassed to watch the child empress take a piss,_ he thought, and it startled him into a weary smile as he looked up at the commander, propping his chin in one hand.

“Oh, sure. Demon armies, assassination plots against the Empress, Wardens hypnotized by darkspawn lords, a giant unspeakable horror that whispers your worst thoughts to you, getting sent back physically through the Fade _again…_ all I need is a another terrorist plot against the Chantry and abominations tearing people apart in the courtyard and I’ll have a full dance card.”

Tobias had meant for the response to come out as a joke, but listing out the Inquisition’s woes in such graphic detail just made him feel old and tired and heartsick. He saw the briefest flash of pure pity on Cullen’s face before his templar mask slid neatly back into place and he sat down across from the Inquisitor, all business again. But when was the man not?

“You made great strides at Adamant,” Cullen pointed out. “If you hadn’t stopped Erimond there, this war would already be over, and not in our favor.”

Tobias felt a chill run across the back of his neck at the name. “Do you have any further news of him?”

“Other than that he refuses food? No.” A look of disgust crossed Cullen’s face. “Do not trouble yourself Inquisitor. There are more pressing matters at hand than that apostate.”

 _Oh, he’ll eat before it’s over,_ Tobias thought, feeling his stomach clench and roil. _Whatever you want, however much you want, whenever you want. You’ll practically have to spoon-feed him._

“Yes, more pressing matters like the rest of them,” a new voice rang from the doorway. Tobias looked up to see Leliana, Cassandra, and Josephine filing through to take their regular seats at the war table. The women, as usual, were immaculate, their faces fresh with the sleep of the just, and Tobias found himself wondering not for the first time how the trio could always float through the corridors looking as perfect as figures in a fresco.

He and Cullen both stood and pulled out chairs for Josephine and Cassandra – Leliana declined Cullen with a wan smile and a wave of her hand, pulling out her own chair and sliding into it without help as she straightened the parchments in front of her.

“We are pleased to see you, Your Worship,” Josephine ventured once they were all seated, and Tobias raised his eyes to meet her careful greeting, smiling in return.

“I am pleased that someone still is.” He looked to Cassandra and saw her watching him. She smiled at his small joke, but it was strained. Beneath the table, he felt her hand on his knee, not intimate but steadying, the way a chevalier will pat a wall-eyed destrier to calm it.

“All wit aside,” Leliana replied, her tone a little chilly, “we have a situation that must be handled before anything else. A group of mages was caught trying to escape Skyhold last night.”

“Escape?” The brow of the Inquisitor furrowed. “This is a sacred place, no prison. A destination for pilgrims and the faithful. What would they feel the need to escape from?”

“Precisely why we found it so odd that they chose to leave via ropes down the side of the battlements in the dead of night, rather than through the front gates. When our guards tried to apprehend them, the mage leading the group threw fire at them. As can be expected, all were subdued, and we are holding the entire group for further interrogation.”

“Do we think he’s Venatori?”

Leliana shook her head, crossing her arms over her chest, causing her chainmail to catch firelight from the corners of the room. Tobias met her gaze and was disturbed to find that he could read absolutely nothing in it, neither condemnation nor sympathy – the Nightingale’s expression was blank as a tombstone with no name upon it. “No. By all accounts, he is a refugee from the Hinterlands who joined us voluntarily when the mages he was traveling with were slaughtered by rogue templars. But we cannot discount the possibility that he may be involved with the Venatori in some way. Their spies are as prolific as our own.”

“How many others were with him?”

“Four. Two men, a woman, and a child. We have their staffs and their names. They gave up both willingly enough. Except for the child. He was very frightened. He had no staff, and would not give a name.”

“A mage child?”

“Yes.”

Tobias sighed, feeling the harbinger of a nasty headache beginning to thump behind his eyeballs. A memory came to him unbidden – a group of dirty jeering village boys surrounding him in a vicious half-moon, a bolt of lightning out of a clear blue sky. Screaming, a scorched motionless body lying on the cobblestones. And then the templars coming, fending off the mob before they had the chance to burn him alive in the market square, but not before they’d had the chance to beat him within an inch of his life.

He resisted the urge to rest his head in his hands again. He couldn’t afford to look weak. It was bad enough he’d done it in front of Cullen. He kept his voice as calm and unflappable as he could. “But everyone is all right? No one was killed in the skirmish?”

“We’ve got a guard with bad burns on his face and no eyebrows left to speak of,” Cullen replied, and Tobias thought he saw the commander’s mouth twitch slightly, as if fighting a wry smile. “But as to the mages, yes, they’re fine. A bit on the hysterical side, and one was quite shaken up by almost plummeting a few hundred feet to her death when her rope burnt through, but I believe they will all see reason with gentle words.” He looked at Tobias.

 _I’ve completely fucked this up._ “I suppose I should be the one to talk with them then, considering the mages are so afraid of me now they are quite literally willing to throw themselves from the ramparts rather than remain here.” He tried to keep bitterness out of his voice, but from the flinch in their expressions he was sure he had failed.

“I do not know if that is wise,” Cassandra said, her voice reluctant. She brought her hand off his knee and placed both elbows on the table, curling her hands together as she peered over them. As tired and wrung out as both Tobias and Cullen looked, the Inquisitor could not help but notice how beautiful Cassandra was by comparison – her dark eyes sparkled in the dim light, and a faint blush graced her cheeks. _Love looks good on her,_ he thought. “They are deserters who attacked our men. I do not know if you should give them credence by hearing their grievances in person. But it is your decision of course, my lord.”

“There are many mages who are still loyal to the Inquisition,” Josephine interjected, soothing. “Surely it could do no harm to put their minds at ease, to show that those who dissent will not be dealt with in a manner which is… overly harsh. The Inquisition deals with all fairly, whether they are mages or not – that is the sentiment we should be encouraging, yes?”

Tobias looked at her. “You know as well as anyone here that there is no such thing as one apostate, Josie. If five mages turn traitor, that means a dozen or more are thinking about it or are already complicit.”

“I take it you have personal experience with this?” Leliana asked.

Tobias turned to give her a level look, meeting her penetrating gaze head-on. He disliked the accusation in her tone. “I was there when the Circle at Ostwick rebelled, spymaster. Suffice to say, I have more personal experience with it than I’d like.”

“So what do you intend to do?” Her voice was deadpan.

The Inquisitor down stared at the map for a few seconds of silence, his expression pensive and unreadable. Then: “I will speak to this mage and his people, and I will speak to Ser Barris concerning what is to be done with him. I wanted to check and see how the templars were settling in anyway, so may as well kill two birds with one stone. What is the deserter called?”

Cullen exchanged a brief glance with Cassandra before replying. “Caleth.”

Tobias felt the surprise flit plain on his face, but was at a loss to conceal it. He was too tired to maintain a façade of polite confidence. “Caleth the Renegade?” _That’s a black name, even among mages. Well…_ most _mages._

“His namesake, we assume, considering that mage was made Tranquil and this mage most assuredly is not,” Leliana said, tone dry. “But it appears he has followed his predecessor in some regards. There are eighteen notches cut into the man’s staff. I know that you are a student of history, Inquisitor. You can imagine what they might signify.”

 _Eighteen templar dead,_ Tobias thought, but did not say. _So an apostate and a murderer._ He heard the voice of Payens, second-in-command to Barris, ringing in his mind as he complained to Cassandra: _There are mages here guilty of heinous crimes. And you are saying we should just leave them be?_

“Ser Barris has asked to speak to you otherwise, Inquisitor,” Cullen continued. “With regards to Erimond and his sentence.”

 _What else is new?_ Tobias wanted to snap back, but gritted his teeth and held his tongue. “As you wish. I will meet with him after I speak with Caleth and his band. Please tell me someone had the foresight to put the captured mages and Erimond out of earshot of each other. Last thing we need are conspiracies.”

“Of course,” Leliana said, sounding almost miffed.

“Then that’s settled.” Tobias wanted to put an end to the conversation. His headache was progressing from a nagging thrum between his eyes to a full-on assault that reminded him of what it felt like to be too close to red lyrium for a few hours. Sick bolts of pain throbbed across his vision with his heartbeat. Screw appearing weak – he decided he would see Giselle for a tincture of elfroot before he saw anyone else, murderous apostate or Templar or otherwise. “I will deal with it when we dismiss. Now what news from The Exalted Plains?”

The conversation moved along in an agonizing slog into other matters and missives, pausing for brief squabbles between the various advisors, and the solemn council spoke long into the morning about troop movements and Orlesian politics, until finally Tobias could stand no more. His headache was so bad as to be blinding – every spoken word was torture to his ears, and the candlelight felt as if it would fry his brains in his head.

“May we convene this at a later time?” he said, giving a smile in apology that felt like an animal baring its teeth in a trap. “I hate to bow out early after skipping meetings for the past two days, but I do not feel over well.”

“Of course, Inquisitor,” Josephine said graciously, rolling up her itinerary. “We serve at your pleasure.”

The others filed out, but Cassandra hung back, silently putting her arm through his without reserve as they left the war room together. It was not quite the touch of her hand, which Tobias wished for more than anything in the world in that moment, but she was still over-conscious of how she looked with him to the others. Thus they walked in tandem back towards the main hall, letting their gait slow behind the other two women and Cullen until they were left behind.

“Come with me,” she said suddenly, looking up at him as they paused in the hallway.

He raised his eyebrows at her. “Should I be worried?”

She smiled. A little. Her voice was full of mock reproach, but soft. “You should not be so suspicious.” Since they were alone in the hall now, she raised her palm to his freshly-shaven cheek, gazing into his eyes. “How are you?”

“Honestly? Just now I feel as if a druffalo was standing directly in the center of my forehead. But better for seeing your face,” he admitted, bringing his own hand over hers. He gave her a smile to show her how fine he was, but whatever she saw in it caused her own to fade. She took his hand in hers and began leading him in silence towards the courtyard.

Against his better judgment he let her, beyond caring how it would look to others for the Seeker to drag him to her quarters above the armory by the hand like some errant child being escorted home.


End file.
